The pen I clutch is speaking,
With words that are not mine.
The paper beneath is echoing,
Laughs as fear shoots up my spine.

The window I see taunts me,
With visions I cannot see.
The tree branch grasps me tightly,
Watches my still attempts to flee.

It whizzes by so quickly,
You'll miss it in a blink.
They do not yet know me,
My ships not one to sink.
For though I do not say it,
I'm closer than they think.